by D L Lane
I sighed. Mr. King reminded me of a yoyo, doing sweet and kind things one moment, pulling me close, the next cutting me off as if I didn’t matter, turning my emotions into a yoyo, too. But even if he was confusing, those few times Thayer appeared in front of me? They made all the ups and downs worth the commotion.
***
The next few days were more of the same. I’d wait on his guests—Mr. King barely speaking or looking at me, waving me off with a word, or not saying anything at all, while Thayer showed up here and there for a few stolen moments, draining the mean out of me.
***
When the end of August rolled around, I was beginning to believe Mr. King’s guests were never going to leave.
“Virginia, when do you think everyone’s going to go?” I asked, glad she’d finally healed-up enough to return to her full duties.
She placed the household journal she’d been making notes in aside and glanced up at me. “You mean Hugh and Reynard?”
“Is that their names?” I asked, my voice tickling.
She nodded. “Hugh Judson King and Reynard Carrington. But to answer your original question, I really don’t know. I’m surprised they’ve been here as long as they have, too.”
“Mr. King hasn’t said anything?”
“About their departure?”
Coughing out, “Yeah,” I cleared my scratchy throat. “I’m sorry.”
“Here.” Virginia handed me a hankie. “I hope you’re not coming down with something.”
“Might be too late for hoping.” Using my manners, I sneezed into the handkerchief, then unable to stop, sneezed a few more times.
“Ms. Singleton?”
Putting the informality aside, I turned. Mr. King strode into the smaller sitting room where Ms. Bauman kept her roll-topped desk.
I gathered myself. “Yes, sir?”
His sky-blue eyes narrowed. “Are you ill?”
“I’m not feeling my best,” I admitted.
He shifted his gaze to Ms. Bauman. “Will you have Inga make Ms. Singleton some chamomile tea, and then make sure she and Ms. Bonny are aware they won’t have their helper tonight.”
“They won’t?” I asked in harmony with Ms. Bauman’s, “Of course,” as she gracefully rose from her seat and left without another word.
“Mississippi.” The softness in Mr. King’s voice should have soothed, but it roused the prickly in me.
“So, you’re talking to me again?” At once, I raised the hankie to cover my mouth. “Achoo!”
“You are a ginger-snap, aren’t you?”
“I thought I was a breath—achoo!—of fresh air?”
Mr. King, or was it Thayer?—smiled—perfect white teeth shining. “You are, but I like your fiery side, too.”
“Maybe you oughta think ’bout—” I shook my head, grabbing the edge of calm and proper. “Perhaps,” I said, staring over, “you should think about why?”
He lifted a brow. “Why I like your fiery side?”
“Why my ‘fiery side’ comes flaming out so much lately.” Deflated, I took a seat in the one Ms. Bauman vacated, feeling bone-tired and puny.
Rubbing his temple, he blew out a breath. “I have my suspicions.”
“I never know which side of you I’m going to meet.” Staring at my lap, I whispered, “Just when I think I’m dealing with Mr. King, Thayer shows up.”
The man lifted my chin then took a knee beside me, puzzling me more if such a thing were possible. “What in the world are you doing?”
“I’m sorry if I confuse you at times, Mississippi. The truth is, I confound myself, but you need to know that I am trying to protect you.”
I frowned. “From what?”
Dropping his hand from me, he said, “My father, for one.”
“I need—” Holding up a finger, then covering my mouth, I started hacking up a lung.
Mr. King patted my back.
“I-I’m sorry,” I apologized once I gained my breath.
“Don’t be.”
The coughing fit aside, my mind was still on what he’d said. “Why would I need protection from your daddy?”
“He’s very set in his ways, and I’m hoping to keep him from getting too stern with you.”
“By being stern with me yourself?”
He nodded. “It would seem so. But never, at any time, has Thayer been far from you.”
Tilting my head, I blinked. “I don’t think my confusion is any better, Mr. King.”
“Neither is mine, Ms. Singleton.” He grinned, but it appeared to be more regretful than happy.
“I have the tea,” Virginia announced, bringing the man at my side to his feet.
“Thank you, Ms. Bauman,” he said, moving, allowing her to hand the steaming cup to me.
Breathing in the pleasing scent, I managed a “Thanks,” as Mr. King turned to walk away.
“Make sure you take care of yourself and get plenty of rest, Ms. Singleton,” he said.
“I’ll draw a hot bath for her, then it’s to bed,” Ms. Bauman assured, while I kept my gaze locked on the baffling man as he nodded once, then poof, he disappeared just as quickly as he’d come.
***
A late summer cold had turned into an in-the-bed for five day’s flu—Mr. King giving orders to Ms. Bauman to put aside her usual duties to tend to me. So, I was surprised when I’d been summoned to his office on the first day I’d returned to being part of his staff—Ms. Bonny relieving me from washing dishes.
Wiping my wet hands on a dishcloth, I said, “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” to Cook.
“We’ll be fine,” she said. “Don’t worry.”
But I did. I worried. Not about leaving a stack of dirty dishes behind, but my mind unable to stop wondering what Mr. King wanted, though I’d know soon enough.
Knocking on his door with one hand, messing with the hair that had escaped the bun I’d put it in that morning with the other, I heard his, “Come in!”
Trying to prepare myself to see him, I took one, two, three deep breaths, then went inside.
Leaning back in his chair, blue eyes met me, the flat mask I’d come to recognize erasing any emotion on his face. “Please, Ms. Singleton, have a seat.”
So it’s Mr. King I’m meeting with today.
Being sure to use the best lady-like manners Ms. Bauman taught me, I placed myself in the chair across from the front of his mahogany desk and waited. No reason to say anything.
“I’m going to ask you to move all your things and bunk with Ms. Bonny,” he said, no beating around the bush. No spark of anything in his eyes.
Why, why, why? I screamed inside my head, but I didn’t utter a sound.
Silence filled the room all but for the chirping of birds perched in the trees outside.
“Did you hear me?” he asked.
I nodded.
One dark brow arched. “No arguments?”
I shook my head.
“Are you going to speak to me at all?”
“How soon do you want me to move?” I asked, but a thousand questions were ready to explode off my tongue.
“Tonight.”
I stood, my heart shattering into a scatter of broken pieces at my feet. He’d changed his mind about me being a guest—only helping out while his real guests were there—intending to make me part of his permanent staff.
“Alright,” I managed, shoving my disappointment and hurt into the dark where I kept most of them. “I’ll take care of it now.”
He rose, straightening his suit-coat. “This is only temporary. I have more guests arriving and need the room.”
Temporary? Who is coming? His sister? Probably, it is her room.
Keeping all my questions to myself, I bowed my head, ready to curtsy, hearing, “Don’t!”
“As you wish,” I said, turning and heading for the door. “If we’re done now, I’m going to go.”
“We are not done, Ms. Singleton.”
I glanced back at him, putting steel into my voice
that I didn’t feel. “I think we are.”
And with that, I left Mr. King in his stuffy old office to do whatever it is a tycoon would do.
Chapter Thirteen
The arrival
September 7, 1936
Putting on my best, ‘I’m here to help you’ grin I greeted Mr. King’s two new visitors—a short, stout woman who could look down her nose at you, even if you were taller. And she spoke in a way that was...well, strangely formal. When I asked Ms. Bonny later as to why she talked so funny, she told me Augustine Willabee-King came from an aristocratic family in London, England.
That’s a whole other country!
My gaze bounced to the younger woman at her side. Golden-spun hair flowing down her back and green, cat-shaped eyes. She was probably the prettiest young woman I’d ever seen. And while she didn’t resemble Mr. King, I assumed she was Estella.
Some of the bad feelings I’d been holding onto for the past few days began to subside.
Of course, his little sister would want her room, although, I figured Mr. King could have handled things better. For that matter, I guessed I could have too.
Just like his first arrivals a month ago, Mr. King asked Charles to take their things up to their rooms—Ms. Bauman going along with him.
My stiff shoulders seemed to relax ’til Mr. Carrington came past me, arms outstretched. “Catherine, my darling!” He hugged her tight. “I hope the trip to Louisiana was a good one.”
Catherine, not Estella?
“Your lovely daughter was the perfect traveling companion,” Mrs. King said, pulling my attention to her for an instant.
“Yes.” Catherine kissed her daddy’s cheek. “Our trip wasn’t taxing in the least.”
“I’m happy to hear it, sweetheart.”
Disentangling themselves, Catherine’s green eyes shifted to me. “Thayer?”
The high notes of her voice set the fine hairs on the back of my neck on end—heated prickles poking me.
She used his first name.
“I wasn’t aware you hired anyone new,” she said.
Why would you be aware? ran through my thoughts.
“Ahem...” Mr. King’s mask slipped, brow crinkling. Yes, well...”
She stared at him. “Are you going to introduce us?”
“Ms. Singleton,” he said, not looking at me, “this is Ms. Carrington.” He waved a hand. “Catherine, this is Ms. Singleton.”
Fire boiled up from my belly. He used her first name, too.
“It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Singleton.”
Swallowing down the ball in my throat, I limply shook her delicate left hand with the big, sparkling emerald ring—doing so void of any niceties.
“We should leave the foyer behind,” Mr. Carrington said. “Perhaps interrupt Hugh from his business call and spend some time visiting.”
“I believe we shall,” Mrs. King replied.
“Ms. Bonny,” her son said, “will you bring refreshments into the parlor?”
She curtsied. “Yes, sir.”
Mrs. King took off her fancy feathered hat. “Make sure Cook prepares the correct tea.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Ms. Bonny said before she glanced at me. “Come, Ms. Singleton.”
“I believe Ms. Singleton was working in the library prior to our guests’ arrival.” Mr. King’s eyes skimmed over then past me. “She should return to her dusting duties.”
Fire spread from my curling toes to my head, but a fake smile popped on my face. “As you wish, sir.” I mimicked Ms. Bonny’s curtsy.
“Come now, Thayer,” Mr. Carrington’s voice boomed, “you and your affianced have a lot of catching up to do.”
The word affianced struck me. I wasn’t sure, but I had a pretty good idea what that meant, and once I confirmed it, I didn’t care who heard me, I was going to scream.
***
Shut behind the closed doors of the King Library, duster discarded for the dictionary in my shaking hands, I found the word jumping around in my mind. Affianced—Engaged to be married. An affianced couple.
With a kerplunk, Webster’s hit the floor, me going down with it—a noodle having lost my knees. My chest heaved, and I couldn’t catch my breath, but I managed to get myself up and ran for the doors, flinging them open. Wildly, and with no care, I used every bit of strength I had and flew down the hall, out one of the back doors, and kept on running, not stopping ’til I fell on all fours in a clump of yellowing grass by the lake.
Pain cutting through my chest, breaths harsh, I bellowed at the top of my lungs, “Noooo!” curling my fingers into fists and beating the ground beneath them.
The man who continually puzzled me with his hot and cold actions. The only man who I’d come to care for, was going to marry that Catherine woman.
Perhaps I needed to hear it, or maybe I’d genuinely done gone ’round the bend, but I yelled, “He’s going to marry her!”
As soon as my screaming voice echoed around me, all my confusion went away. I got it—the yo-yoing. Mr. King didn’t want to protect me; he tried to hide the truth from me. “He’s going to marry Catherine Carrington!”
And he wanted to have his cake and eat it too.
Deep down, he was like the rest of the men I knew—rotten to the core. He’d say one thing and do another, whatever tickled his fancy, who cared about anyone else’s feelings.
I paused and studied my fist as something else struck me.
He wasn’t trying to protect me from his father either, that whole conversation we had made no sense. But, by making me a part of his staff under the guise of needing help, telling me it would only be temporary, he was trying to conceal me. Mississippi Singleton wouldn’t be the type of guest he should have staying in his home. I needed to disappear, but he didn’t want to boot me out. The man wanted me to stay, and what better way than to blend in as the help?
I’d become his dirty little secret, hidden in plain sight!
Like a picture show, my mind brought up the times he’d hugged me. The feel of those strong arms as he said sweet things. The way he’d rub my back with the palm of his hand. The scent of his skin. His lips on mine...
“No one will hurt you in my home, most especially not me,” he’d said. “You’ll stay as long as need be without fear of anything improper taking place between us.”
Well, someone had hurt me—he did. And no matter how you put a spin on it, something improper was taking place. The man wanted to touch and kiss me but knew he’d committed to another; that was part of his struggle—his sinful side getting the better of him at times.
“Well, Mr. King, I finally understand.” Sitting up, I angrily swiped tears from my face. I was mad at him, angry at me, furious at the entire world, and I wasn’t going to fall prey to Thayer Drayton King’s charms any longer!
Mississippi Singleton was done playing the fool.
“What’s-you doin’ down there, Boo?”
Rene, the gardener who worked on the estate, hunched down beside me, his thick Cajun accent tickling my ears.
“I’ve been stupid, but no more,” I said, determination getting me to my feet.
“Naw...you ain’t coo-yon.” He rose and started picking dead grass from the straggling ends of my hair that had fallen.
“Oh, but I have been, Rene.”
“Co faire?”
Squinting, I asked, “Huh?”
“Why-you say dat?”
I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Rene!” Mr. King bellowed, looking as if he were ready to kill someone as he stomped our way.
Dropping the strands of my hair, the sandy-blond gardener with gentle green-brown eyes turned. “Yeah?”
“Don’t you have something you should be doing, like trimming the hedges or raking leaves?” Angry blues flickered to me, back to Rene, then back to me. “And what are you doing out here, Ms. Singleton?”
The real question was, what was he doing there? But, I bit my tongue, lifting my chin and throwing my shoulders
back. “How kind of you to ask.”
Mouth turned into a grim slash; flames shot from Mr. King’s demeanor.
“Thing was,” I said, “dustin’ all those books in the library made me cough, so I came out to get some fresh air.”
“And you were getting that air with Mr. LaCroix?”
“Naw, sir,” Rene said, “it waddn’t anything like dat.”
“How was it then?” Mr. King’s nostrils flared.
“I saw her—”
“Rene was just being nice to me, that’s all,” I informed, crossing my arms.
Jaw ticking, the man pinned me with his glare. “Rene, is it?”
“Well, that is his name.”
“Darling!” Catherine called from a few feet away. “Is everything all right? You left so abruptly.”
“Your fiancée is here,” I whispered, slipping my gaze from the tall blonde woman to him, stabbing the man with my unblinking stare. “You wouldn’t want to keep her waiting now, would you?”
The two of us glowered at each other, a silent battle before the man closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “May I speak with you in my office?”
“Sorry, Mr. King,” I said, a cool breeze in my tone. “Talkin’ will have to wait; I have cleaning to do.”
His lips parted as if to say something, but I left him, Rene, and Catherine Carrington, behind.
***
Cornered in the hall after dinner service that night, with Mr. King crowding me, I glanced up.
“Mississippi.” That smooth, soothing tone was strumming my skin as if he were touching me, but I wasn’t falling for it this time.
“I believe you mean to say, Ms. Singleton,” I said, managing to sound sweet as honey though inside I was as sour as a lemon.
“Stop this.”
Pretending not to know what he was talking about, I scowled. “Stop what?”
“Ignoring me, and then when I do have your attention, you’re treating me like something you would scrape from the bottom of your shoe.”
“You mean, shi—”
He raised a hand, palm in front of my face. “Don’t you dare say it!”
